


eye contact

by miles_and_miles



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Coffee Shops, F/F, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, No beta we die like archival assistants, One Shot, Pre-Canon, eldritch gfs in the 1970s, i realize this is a niche one but i just think they're neat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:21:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26558062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miles_and_miles/pseuds/miles_and_miles
Summary: london, 1975: gertrude and agnes explore the side effects of their metaphysical link.
Relationships: Agnes Montague/Gertrude Robinson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 34





	eye contact

**London, 1975**

The patrons of the Canyon Cafe hadn’t noticed the change, but at some point that afternoon, the small establishment had become almost intolerably hot. 

Outside, a chill mist fell from steely clouds. Fog crawled into gloves and through jackets, dampening clothes so walkers couldn’t warm up even once they went indoors. In the cafe, though, the windows were fogged up to the point of opacity. Scarves, hats, and outer layers began to spill out of purses and pile up on unoccupied chairs; faces pinkened, hot drinks sat neglected. Only the two women in the furthest booth back seemed totally unaffected. 

“Boiling the frog a bit, aren’t you?” asked Gertrude Robinson, stubbornly refusing to take off her tweed blazer. 

“What?” asked Agnes Montague, looking up from the coffee in front of her, untouched and boiling. 

“I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept. Frog in a saucepan. You turn the temperature up little by little. By the time it realizes it’s dying, it’s too weak to escape.” 

“I wouldn’t do that,” Agnes said, waving a hand dismissively. “Dying slowly -- well, that’s just life. There’s no loss there, nothing to burn. Not really my style.”

Gertrude pursed her lips, disapproving. “Let’s get to it, then,” she said brusquely. “You asked me here. So. Agnes. _What do you wa--_ ” 

“--Oh, no. No, you don’t,” said Agnes. She leaned forward and heat hit Gertrude like a blast furnace, so intense she forgot she was supposed to be breathing. “Don’t try that on me.” 

“I’m just asking a question.” 

“It’s never _just a question_.” Only Gertrude could see that the unraveling braid over Agnes’s shoulder was starting to flicker and spark. “Is it, Archivist?” 

“I suppose not,” Gertrude said, trying to keep tension out of her voice, trying to fight the impulse to guard her face against the heat. She tried unsuccessfully to blink the dryness from her eyes. 

“I asked you here because I need an honest answer. Something the Lightless Flame won’t-- _can’t_ give me,” said Agnes flatly. This was...well, this was a surprise. Gertrude wondered if it bothered her, turning to Beholding to ask for something her own postulants couldn’t provide. If it did, Agnes wasn’t letting on. 

“Yes?” said Gertrude. 

“I can’t compel answers like you can. I’m assuming that you’ll be honest, do you understand? I’m trusting you.”

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Gertrude said. 

“Well, it’s the best one I’ve got,” Agnes said. She spoke simply, unashamedly. Bold as fire and just as bright. 

“Okay. Fine. Fire away.” 

Agnes’s smile was sweeter than burnt sugar. 

“Not like-- you know what I mean,” Gertrude snipped. For a moment, the only sound between them was a soft bubbling from Agnes’s ferociously steaming coffee mug. Then--

“Tell me what my eyes look like,” Agnes said. 

“ _What_?” 

“Describe them to me.”

“You asked me here so I could wax eloquent about your _eyes_? Seems a little unsubtle, don’t you think?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Agnes. “I’m serious. I thought odd questions would be something you’d understand.” 

“Okay,” said Gertrude. “Fair enough.” 

For the first time since sitting down, Gertrude looked right at Agnes. Eye contact was usually something she avoided: by now she’d learned that most people found her gaze...unnerving. Agnes wasn’t flinching, though. Of course she wasn’t. 

“Your eyes are grey. Grey like...not like clouds, not like the sea. Like ashes.” Gertrude felt heat rise to her face and wondered if she shouldn’t have been so on-the-nose. “They’re clear. Very clear -- it’s like seeing the bottom of a lake. Your pupils are quite dilated; maybe it’s the low light.” 

Gertrude finally looked away, peering down into her half-empty cup of lukewarm coffee. All at once, she became aware of how very, very warm it was. 

Agnes gave a short, choppy sigh of relief. “Yes,” she said, the eyes in question briefly fluttering shut. “Those are mine.” 

“May I ask a question?” said Gertrude carefully. 

“Yes, but...just inquire. Don’t demand.” 

“Of course.” Gertrude drained her words of intention, tried to make them as bland as she could muster. “Why? Why are you asking?” 

Agnes sighed. “You really don’t know?” 

“If I didn’t have to ask, I wouldn’t. Believe it or not, I don’t much care for asking questions.” 

Agnes laughed, more air than sound, and looked down into her seething mug. 

“Every mirror I look in. Every reflection I see.” She raised her face to look at Gertrude again, all steam and fire and heat-flushed cheeks. “Your eyes, Gertrude. Your eyes where mine should be. Watching. Ever since the ritual.” Agnes paused, pressing her lips together. “I didn’t know if the change was physical. And I couldn’t trust that any of my...my _devotees_ would be willing to acknowledge it if my eyes were stained by the Watcher’s mark. I needed to know.” 

“I didn’t realize,” said Gertrude softly. 

Agnes just raised her eyebrows. 

“I’m not watching you -- well, no more than I’m watching anybody else.” Gertrude paused for a moment, sifting out the right words. “It’s not just you, if it makes you feel any better,” she finally said. “I’ve been burning since our destinies were strung together. I think you know that. You’re burning me down, Agnes. Every breath a forest fire.”

“Poetic,” said Agnes. “Does it hurt?” 

“Terribly.” 

“It hurts me to be watched. My skin just... _crawls_. I’m not used to that.” Agnes shuddered to think of it. Her coffee was in danger of bubbling over. 

“Would you believe me if I said I was sorry?” asked Gertrude.

“Would you believe _me_?” 

“Point taken.” 

“I dream of you, you know,” said Agnes, rather suddenly. “Without all this.” She gave a sweeping gesture to Gertrude’s coiffed dark hair, her stiff posture, her high-collared blouse. 

Gertrude did a double-take before she realized that Agnes was talking about her human form, not her clothes. _So much for knowing all and seeing all_ , she thought, annoyed with herself. Agnes gave a half-smirk.

“I don’t mind seeing your eyes like that,” Agnes went on. “They’re beautiful when they glow. All of them.” As she leaned forward again, the heat that radiated from her wasn’t so oppressive. In fact, it was very nearly warm. 

“When I was unconscious after the circle was cast,” said Gertrude, half-shocked at her own honesty, “I dreamt I could touch you without being burned.” 

“I remember,” Agnes said, her voice little more than a whisper. How could she forget? She’d destroyed nearly everyone she’d ever touched; she had less control over it than she liked to believe. The Archivist and her eyes hadn’t been hurt, though. The Archivist and her eyes hadn’t been afraid. 

Agnes stood then, shaking the table a little. The warmth spreading through her was neither fire nor destruction, and it made her nervous. 

“Here,” she said. She wrapped her hand around Gertrude’s cold cup of coffee until wisps of steam curled skyward. “Don’t catch cold.” 

Gertrude looked utterly unsurprised by her companion’s sudden flight. “I’ll be seeing you,” she said, an odd little half-smile on her face. 

“I know you will,” said Agnes softly. “Dream of me sometime, won’t you?” 

Gertrude didn’t answer, but they could both feel her eyes follow Agnes out the door. 

**Author's Note:**

> what could be better than this: just gals being pals, just pals being supernaturally bound to one another. thanks for reading; i hope this brought you some of the refreshing eldritch wlw energy i felt writing it at three in the morning! <3  
> 


End file.
